


Towards the Moon Or To The Sun

by SerDinnerRoll



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M, some goodbyes are not forever, yearning and reunion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:41:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25656085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerDinnerRoll/pseuds/SerDinnerRoll
Summary: Sam goes on his final journey.
Relationships: Frodo Baggins/Sam Gamgee, Rose Cotton/Sam Gamgee
Comments: 6
Kudos: 55





	Towards the Moon Or To The Sun

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mollyknox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mollyknox/gifts).



There was a time when Samwise Gamgee would have preferred facing a cave of irate goblins to stepping foot on a ship. 

“We’re sturdy folk, us hobbits,” he would always say when boats were brought up in conversation, “But with no account for buoyancy.” 

And yet, Sam discovered that when a hobbit reaches the ripe age of one hundred and two and has become a widower with more relations than he can count, bravery seems to be a pleasant indulgence to partake in. So, early one autumn morning, when the breeze was properly crisp and the leaves sufficiently yellow, he decided it was time. Packing some spare clothes, he grabbed his walking stick which looked as old and gnarled as he was, and fastened a finely woven grey cloak about his neck. Then, locking up Bag End, he placed the key in an envelope with a letter, leaving it at #3 New Row for his lad Tolman to happen upon.

As he passed the New Party Tree, the few first shafts of dawn shot out from the east to set its golden leaves aflame and its silver bark alight. “That’s a fine sight,” he thought wistfully, “Like in Lorien all those years ago…” 

And then, with a smile and a sigh, he pulled up his grey hood and vanished from the Shire. And if anyone was up at that hour, they would have seen nothing but a passing whisp of morning mist.

The trip was not long, only four days, though at his age it felt like quite the journey. In his younger days he could have walked it in two days all while singing, but his legs had grown stiff and his breath shaky. Yet for all the aches and pains that age brought, he was content to cook his meals under the shade of trees and in the breeze of the outdoors again. 

Finally, as he sun began to set over the Western Sea on the fourth day, Samwise reached the Havens. And there, a ship was waiting.

It would not be the last ship to sail from that harbor, but for Sam, it might as well have been the only one in the world. He stepped onto it with a heavy sigh, assisted by some of the elves who were also passing that way. Among their company he did not know the name of a single one, and yet they treated him with honor and quiet respect.

When he had been younger, father to many children underfoot, he had mulled over Frodo’s words and had been certain he’d be terrified half to death if he boarded a ship, no matter where it led. But now, as the vessel glided silently into the evening, he simply stared down into the cool dark water below, and the many stars reflected in it. And with that he rested his eyes.

* * *

He dreamed. He dreamed of Rivendell in autumn, its leaves ever in their shades of red and orange. He saw Merry and Pippin, not as the wise Master of Buckland or the aged Thain of the Shire, but as they were. Young, cheery, and untouched yet by the true hurts of the world.

And then he realized what day it was. It was the day Frodo woke up. October 24th! Swiftly Sam rushed to where he recalled Frodo’s chambers were. He didn’t even notice that the age had fallen from his feet and he ran just as fast as he ever had.

Ahead he saw the door and heard soft voices behind. Pressing against the wood he burst into a world of white, yet feeling a hand on his shoulder....

* * *

When he awoke from a gentle slumber, an elf was softly shaking him. “Wake up, little master. Our journey’s end approaches.”

About the ship was a thick fog of billowing clouds so that Sam could see nothing. Yet all the elves stared forward, joy on their faces. And soon, as the fog pulled back like a curtain before a play, Sam could see it too. A wall of mountains, taller than any he had seen before, rising up like a cresting wave, and among them, the highest, was crowned with stars of the early morning.

“Súlimo,” a few whispered. “Taniquetil,” murmured others. But among all, the name “Elbereth” moved like one of the gentle waves lapping along the ship.

“The star queen,” Sam gathered, knowing only a little elven lore. “Oh heavens… I’ve come to see Mister Frodo one last time… not some great faerie queen… And not dressed at all proper. Sam Gamgee you fool…”

Gently, the ship pressed forward, a soft wind carrying them past a fair island with towers that reminded Sam of the Havens and trees that made him think of Ithilien. From it’s shores soft singing could be heard, not sad and full of lament like some elven songs Sam had heard but happy and contented.

He turned back to see that the mountains loomed ever closer but now the ship was veering slightly towards a glitter in the morning light. Only as they got closer did Sam see that it was a city of silver and grey that gleamed with a radiance which made the elderly hobbit shield his eyes.

A nearby elf, a maiden with hair as grey as his cloak, laughed merrily, “It is a sight, is it not, little Master? That is Alqualondë, home of my kin and of my lord Olwë, King of all Teleri. Long have I wished to wander its docks and swim in its waters, and now to see it in waking for the first time is beyond all happiness. And I might take some pride that it is the first home of Valinor that you yourself will see.”

Sam chuckled but bit his lip, “Well it’s quite the sight I’d agree, if a bit hard on the eyes. Never seen a more well polished city I’ll give it that…”

If the _elleth_ took offense she hid it under soft laughter, “Ah, in the lands of Valinor, I do not doubt you will find something ever more to your liking…”

It was not long before the ship docked and ropes were thrown to each other along a pearl encrusted pier. A crowd of elves were gathered at its end and as soon as the gangplank was extended, several elves burst from the ship, calling out to those in the crowd with joy. The elf who Sam had just spoken with burst into a sprint towards another grey haired elf on the docks, yelling out, “Ada! Ada!” before colliding in a hug that Sam knew too well, of a daughter overjoyed to see her father.

As Sam finally managed to hobble his way off the ship, careful with every step, many of the elves had dispersed, leaving one figure standing where the crowd had been. It was a tall and regal figure, garbed in brilliant white, long silver grey hair pulled into a ponytail and a white staff held in hand. As Sam approached, the figure spoke at last in a warm resonating voice.

“Greetings, Master Gamgee. I trust your voyage was a pleasant one, though I recall you’ve not an over fondness of boats…”

Sam squinted as he hobbled forward. At first he had assumed it to be an elf, as the face of the greeter was even fairer than some of the Eldar Sam had seen, but no pointed ears came from under the long hair.

“You’ve got me at a loss, good sir,” Sam apologized, “I do not recall ever meeting you and if I have I seem to have forgotten.”

The figure laughed a merry laugh, that seemed so strange and yet familiar to the old hobbit. “No, I do believe your memory to still be a steel trap or a copper one at the very least. Yes my good hobbit, we have met, just not in this raiment… We are old friends, you and I, but I dare say you always kept a healthy bit of fear of me. I’d say most intelligent hobbits did, the Bagginses notwithstanding…” 

It was then that, as Sam looked up into the stranger’s eyes, he recognized them as belonging to an old man wrapped in grey.

“Gandalf!” Sam erupted, “Mister Gandalf it’s you! Stars above and dirt below you do look different!”

Gandalf let out another chuckle and placed a reassuring hand on Sam’s shoulder, “It is me, Samwise, and though here I am called Olórin, Gandalf is as good a name as I’ll answer to.”

The old hobbit could not help himself, wrapping his arms about the lower robes of the wizard as tears leaked from his eyes and old memories wandered back into his mind. Bilbo’s Birthday, Rivendell, Eregion, and the Field of Cormallen. All happy moments he could recall with the wizard tumbled into his mind.

Sam did not know how long he wept and held on to his old guide but Gandalf made no move to stop him, simply rubbing his shoulder with a sympathetic smile and warm regard. Finally he did pull back and rubbed away what tears remained, staring up at the kind face. 

“Forgive me, Mister Gandalf, but glory and trumpets it is good to see you!”

“And you my dear hobbit, and you,” the Maia smiled, “But it is not me you came to see is it?”

At that, Sam’s eyes widened and his heart seemed to still in his chest for a single moment, “H-He’s here then? He’s still here?”

Of course he is,” he answered, “He’s been waiting for you…”

* * *

The journey from the port moved swiftly for Samwise. Or perhaps he had been drifting off. Though Shadowfax moved swiftly along the road, Sam barely felt that the horse was galloping at all. 

All about him the landscape seemed to move by in a blur, turning from grey sand dunes to rocky hills before slowly building up into the sheer cliffs and heights of the mountains. They journeyed into a great cleft in the mountains and passed a great city on a hill, and still Gandalf did not turn aside but pressed on into the west as the sun climbed behind them. 

They passed many fair woods, filled with the sound of singing and of hunting horns. They moved along lush green meadows where Sam could see elves dancing about with flowers entwined in their hair.

And finally they came to a place as Shire-like as Sam could imagine. Rich orchards and golden fields of wheat grew on either side of the path. Odd people, some animal-like and others more treeish, worked amongst the harvest, gathering and sowing all at the same time.

At last, Gandalf turned off road onto a lane that led to a green hill. Birch trees of white trunk and golden leaf grew from the top of it. And there, underneath it, was a hobbit hole.

Sam could not help but stare as Gandalf helped him down. It did not seem to be as big as Bag End, certainly but it looked as homely a place as anything. Little windows peeked out from the green grass at a small little garden filled with flowers and vegetables. In the center was a large round door, painted green, with a shiny brass knob in the middle.

Nervously, Sam looked back up to Gandalf who gave a reassuring smile, rubbing his shoulder comfortingly. “Go,” the wizard said softly, “He will answer.”

And all of a sudden, Sam felt his age. His legs shook and his breath grew short. His mouth was dry and his tongue felt like cotton. Slowly, he moved forward up the path, opening the small gate out front. The sign on it read, “Journeys-End” in Frodo’s familiar hand.

Before he could realize it, he stood in front of the door, walking stick in hand, staring at his reflection in the brass knob. “Well Sam Gamgee,” he muttered to himself after a moment, “You’ve banged on the door of an orc stronghold before… What’s this to the gates of Cirith Ungol?”

Shakily, he raised the walking stick. _Tap-tap-tap_. 

Silence. Sam stood there, waiting. The sound of approaching footsteps beyond the door. The click of the lock. The door opened.

And there was Frodo.

He was dressed in a simple shirt and trousers, suspenders cast over his shoulders. His sleeves were rolled up and there was dirt on his knees from a gardener’s work. But it was his face that Sam could not help but stare into.

He was aged but not old. He stood as straight and tall as ever he had before. His hair was just as full, only now it was a rich silver rather than a dark brown. And his eyes… his eyes shone just as they had on Bilbo’s Party.

They stared at each other long. Sam spoke first, tears forming in his eyes, “It’s me, Mr. Frodo… it’s your Sam…”

“Sam,” Frodo breathed out, “Oh Sam…”

At that they embraced with a ferocity unmatched by any that they had before. They clung together as though at any moment a gale might arise and tear them apart. Sam began shaking with sobs while Frodo remained still, yet his grip did not relent as they simply fell into each other. Sam felt Frodo press his lips gently to his forehead, warm and soft and it filled Sam with a comfort he had not felt since the Havens all those years ago when Frodo departed.

Neither knew how long they stood there like that, nor did they care. All those years, all that _time_ , they could afford to let themselves let it all drift away in this one singular moment. A reunion dearly wanted. A reunion dearly needed.

Finally they moved apart but Frodo’s hands held onto Sam’s shoulders as they looked into each other’s eyes.

“You are here Sam… You came… I didn’t… I didn’t know if you would. The ships-”

“I couldn’t let that get in the way, Frodo. Not after all we’ve been through together. Your Sam might not like boats… be he loves you, Frodo.”

A gentle smile plied at Frodo’s lips and he placed another kiss on Sam’s aged cheek, “Well… you have had a journey for certain… perhaps you’d like some tea? And you must tell me everything that’s happened in the Shire, the North, and all the Realms of Men…”

And with that they turned into the hobbit hole and the door was shut.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I may write more chapters with them in Valinor and things that might have happened in Valinor before Sam arrived.
> 
> Also thanks to Molly for getting my Tolkien gears turning with her own work.


End file.
